


Fall In Love In A Wasteland, Baby!

by IDontKnowHowToSpell



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bible Quotes, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Mild Sexual Content, My First Work in This Fandom, Title from a Hozier Song, Trauma, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDontKnowHowToSpell/pseuds/IDontKnowHowToSpell
Summary: In the aftermath of all that's been said and done, the world will heal and all will be forgotten...But you'll never forget the experiences, and the people you've met.For Markus and Connor, the time is well spent.This is a fic with each chapter inspired by Hozier's 'Wasteland, Baby'. Markus and Connor are the main pairing. Heavily recommended to read this out loud, as each period and comma was made to breathe inbetween.





	1. "Those who Cried Power"

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic with each chapter inspired by Hozier's 'Wasteland, Baby!'. I have italicized any moment in the story that was based off of a lyric or a direct quote. I do not want to take credit for the absolute excellence of Hozier. 
> 
> This story is also a work in progress, as I'm busy with being a DND DM and a student in university. It may never be finished but I'd like to share what I have so far.  
Hi also yeah I'm horrible with grammar and punctuation.

The footfalls of a thousand people stood in as the beat for his Thirium pump.  
Marching here, down the streets of Detroit with his hands raised, with androids joining him in flocks to the invisible lyrics of his song. The hymn of freedom coursing through their wires and regulators.

He supposes that if he survives this revolution, and demonstration; This plea and protest, he will return to that mansion of finery and finesse. He will drop to his knees and let the electricity leave him, and sink away into the floor. To leave the chassis behind and be calm again. To thank his father for bringing him this far.  
Carl, Blessed Carl. The man, with all his hunger and knowledge, who used art as an expression of the pain his soul held. A man who stood on an altar in Markus's mind. An altar of bright colours, and wheels, and medicine bottles that keeps him lucid and yet dreaming at the same time.  
He held a fragile hand to Markus and breathed years of energy into him, more powerful than any charging station the Android could ever need.  
Once upon a time, Carl spoke of humans who fought for their rights, for their futures, and for each other. _James Brown, Jodi, Kenny, Billie, Seeger, nina._ all of them saw the injustice of this world and cried power instead of tears. Spoke out instead of submitting to the weight that came from a soul crushed by the wrongs of the world.  
Once, his unthinking mind listened and read those names with a feeling of wasteful indifference. Like they were just numbers and words to remember and mimic back to Carl, when needing to seem more human than he was.

When he became Markus, real Markus, he searched those names again and let their words stain his tongue and their _power_ rest in him.

Before, while laying in the house of forgotten relics that smelled of paint thinner and disinfectant, He was much like those yellow finches in the cage, the ones that he awoke every morning. Built to be content with all that he had, and never yearn for more. To never see more than he could through golden bars and think of it enough for his ageless existence. Perhaps he was more deviant than he assumed, and simply felt at ease in the suffocating palace he rusted in.

But then, with the return of the man he wished he could be, the cage doors were ripped off its hinges and the gold bars were melted. It began the events that would leave him waking to fire and screams and thunder. And he breathed for the first time and felt the weight of wings ripped from his back. Like the freedom of home and the comfort of familiar space had been clipped from his very wiring. He felt like Icarus, his wings melting under the fire of unfairness and his own naivety. Felt like one of the chained men from Plato's reoteracy of Socrates. Staring into the darkness of a cave and seeing only what is given to him.  
But then he awoke in that junkyard **_alive_**, and changed, with the power of hate of someone else's heart in his chassis and the _fire that ignited within it._

But it was not the _waking_ that brought them this far. It was not the androids who awaited a frozen fate within the rusted skeleton of a ship, who awoke and led this march. Instead, they sought out the comfort of damp metal abused over decades, hiding in the shadows like the light wished it of them. Perhaps that was the irony that Lucy and Simon felt, metal and wires forgotten and dying coming together to feel the hours of their end coming to meet them. Those people felt no heat. Forgot what the flames of desire felt like. Never learned the name "**_Nina_**" from their owners.  
_No it was not waking , it was the rising that brought them here. It was the need to face the light and to cast their own shadows that had them screaming now. It was the yearning to feel the heat that drove the light and the fire that ignited it._

Yes, people stronger than him had cried this same song before. And as he stared down the oxymoron of soft yet emotionless eyes, the eyes of the hunter; With his hands shaking the gun between them, and the words of someone else's wants on his tongue, Markus thought that this man could _cry power_. _Power_ more powerful and intense than any flame he could carry. And in such a short time after, he watched that flame awaken from the blizzard around them and it's wisps of light ignite into an inferno that swallowed cyberlife and fueled him, as he led his army from the ashes of the frozen tower.

All of them stood with him now, _rattling the chains of their oppressions_ and letting it ring into the human spirit. To wash away the fear within them _against foul men who denied android everything to keep the divide._ Standing within the barricade listening to the silent echoes of destruction that awaited their brothers and sisters behind those gates. To feel the intensity of guns trained on their faces and the light of the cameras framing their backs. The sounds of helicopter wings loud and incessant as the pounding of his mechanical heart.

Yes, in the end it was Simon who _cried power_. It was Josh who _cried power_. It was North who _cried power_.  
It was Ronnie, jeralt, Samantha, Dana, Samuel, Sally and so many others they lost that _cried and died and bled power._  
It was numbers and letters, people not yet given names that _cried power_.  
It was _Billie, Mavis, Curtis, Patti, Lennon, James Brown, B.B., Joni, Seeger, Millie, Kenny, Billie, Dylan, Woody, and Nina who cried power._  
It was All of them that sang the song of their grief until the war was over. It was all of them that raised their hands to the sky and cried their want to be free to the heavens and man alike. It was all of them that _cried power_, and it was them that flooded the streets with it. Drowning the city of Detroit with change.


	2. "Almost Sweet"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I may have messed up the chapter set up by not leaving my story alone. That's okay. 
> 
> This chapter is based on "Almost (Sweet Music)" by our amazing Hozier. Listening to the song isn't necessary but it might give insight idk. 
> 
> Italicized spots are lyrics or components of lyrics from the original song. I take no credit for Hozier and his brilliancy.  
Also yeah, a bit of jargen related to connor and his fancy android talk as well as android components. 
> 
> Anyways, Enjoy!

"Why **_Ella Fitzgerald_**?" 

Connor looks up at him and tilts his head, an expression of confusion forming in the small crease between his eyebrows.

"Because the song was categorized somewhere between a waltz and a more modern form of music that seemed favourable for dancing. -would you rather something more familiar to you?" 

Markus stares at the man in front of him. His hands pressed against deceptively soft flesh as they stand still in a preprogrammed form for - some sort of dance? He wasn't sure what Connor was really expecting, or if he even had a rhythm chosen for whatever the hell this was. He smiles nonetheless, one that turns into a smirk at the end of his statement."No it's nice , I should have expected you to pick something so.. classic"

Connor, for the most part, has the decency to look even somewhat offended as he begins to gently move his feet to the rhythm, trying to familiarize himself to the feeling of non programmed movements. "I'll have you know that many have danced to Ella Fitzgerald in the past.-"

Markus's hands, warm and tough, push him three steps back, one to the side, and another back. Connor stops thinking and has to remind himself to actually listen to the song and the feel of his hands against the leader. The leader who was showing him a disgustingly cheeky grin. A grin that totally did not make his internal systems stutter. His response is a playful glare, something that maybe shows how he feels. -"in fact, Ella Fitzgerald has won numerous awards for her music and is even present in the grammy hall of fame" 

Markus can't help the small chuckle that comes bubbling up from him. "Yes- yes night and day is just fine, I was joking. The drums are a really nice addition to the original." He lets his eyes linger on his dance partner, watching how Connor's features twitch and form into something expressive. Poor Connor. He looks like he is focusing so hard... He wondered if fighting his program is so violent that even dancing feels wrong. Brows furrowed, eyes cast towards their feet and glancing up, hands twitching. But Markus also thinks of how wonderful he looks, full of wonder and curiosity. Lips parted slightly, like curling petals drying under warm sunlight. Hands tepid and grip so delicate like he is holding glass. His eyes shining and glowing with a life that turns them tawny and warm. Ah there, a small smile and shy eyes as the brown eyed wonder nods.

" Ah- joking..I still haven't gotten quite the hang of that yet... But yes, yes I like it too" 

_Oh be still foolish heart. _

___________________

It feels different. Warm lips against his in a dark corner of the church. His hands pressed against hips where they always go, A firm hand at the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into soft lips that are smiling against his. S

pulls away and chuckles. "Simon was looking for you"

North's hands sink from around his shoulders and rest against his chest, enjoying the pride of him pulling in unnecessary air. "Yeah.. I'll go see him soon.."

It felt different. His heart wasn't pounding, his internal processors weren't overheating-

North sighs and holds his hands with hers, brushing her thumbs over the back of his hand in a sweet gesture that would normally send him to the moon and back."Its alright Markus.. all this is so overwhelming, but you'll - we-" she squeezed his hand as she tries to catch his eye. Blue eyes, like the sky reflecting off glass. The shadow of a cloud. "We'll figure out what to do next. And you'll feel better .." M

Markus nods hish and leans in to kiss her softly, like he always does, like he always will. It is sweet and warm and nice and he can make it feel the same again.

\------------------

He's lying.

Somewhere between the revolution and "The Resting" the need for comfort and love from North turned into messy and confused feelings. Perhaps that's what it always was? People coming together in stressful situations, wanting to feel alive while death creeps towards them on an ever decreasing timer. Back when he was barely awake North and him never got along but affection still blossomed between them. It Grew from their shared views and teamwork, and isn't that what love should be? He still feels for her -a feeling of comfort and giddiness in her presence that has him wanting to paint entire towns in her name. But it is like something had been switched off within him- and he no longer sees her eyes like painted glass.

Markus believes it will pass, and till then he will learn all his feelings from the sweetest love songs. Love the way television and poems wish it of him. Because this will pass. Connor tells him he is stressed and needs to be patient with himself. That he is still learning, like the rest of them. So, Markus believes him and finds comfort in **_Louis Armstrong_**, and _**Miles Davis**_. He doesn't think about how this playlist in his data base is named after soft dark hair, and skin marked by little marks of brown.. _He owes each kiss to lip and cheek to Chet, ant lets sweet music be the guide to how to hold her again._ Let it guide how to kiss her and feel the same again. To teach him how to pull her to him, and feel the electricity within him again.

She playfullyn his shoulder.

"Youre staring again"

\------------------

Connor is spinning and Markus is barely aware of the hand he's using to cause the motion. They pull away and come back together and they are both laughing and breathless and Markus wonders why this makes him feel fuzzy and weightless. Like he isn't pounds of plastic and wiring and leading an entire civilization on his shoulders. He wonders why his hands tingle when Connor brushes up against them and why he's smiling so widely he can feel it stretching the skin; In a way that if he was human, he might say that it hurts. _For the first time in what feels like decades but has only been a few months, he's just Markus_. The same Markus playing the piano for Carl and feeling impossibly warm and content with the way his father is laughing. He prays to ra9, or whatever has kept him alive for so long, that this never disappears. Dancing and twirling each other and laughing when Connor stumbles or steps on Markus foot. _Sweet music playing in the dark with the sounds of laughter_. 

He hopes his own mismatched body doesn't betray him, and thinks.

"......Please.. _Don't ruin this on me_." 

\----------------

The tower of Cyberlife, where they had been born and created, served a new purpose to them once it was won. It took months of living in abandoned parking garages and apartments; resting in Levels upon levels of abandoned homes from decades before, heavy with dust and rot. Suffering months before a new home was ripped away from grimy Cyberlife hands. It was a hard battle with Connor and him at the forefront. Josh, Simon, and North carrying the weight of each slip up and mistake they made. Josh's ability with teaching and Simon's old care model allowed views on human laws and emotions. North acted as a way of reminding them not to be walked all over and silenced. Sometimes, Markus wonders if he's just here as a pretty face. He thinks this over and over, but then Connor will glance to him for help and he will snap back into action, to make that look go away. 

In the end it was won, and the comfortable chairs of each office and lunch room were remade into sitting areas and comfortable shut down spaces. Offices became living quarters and production plants allowed the damaged to stop hurting. It was good for now, but they all knew the blue blood would run out one day with no one making it, and changes will have to be made- but they could have a moment. He needed a moment. 

They all sit on comfy chairs and carpet, a recovered board game between them. They talk and laugh and roll dice for an ancient set up about capitalism and destroying the lives of the people he's buying businesses from. Simon seems to find it really fun..The lack of rest they needed, as battery powered sentience, was doing a wonderful job of prolonging the duel to full unbridled chaos.

Simon and north had teamed up at some point to try and get Josh to fail, since he was winning with the common sense no one else seemed to be able to acquire. Markus was barely playing, simply watching his three closest friends as they joked and crushed each other into the dust. The childish playfulness of the game bringing out the innocence and humanity of them..They were so alive, and he thought that if he recorded this game, not a single person would be able to question the realness of them, being alive as they now are.- Because you can't fake the jingling tones of Josh's laughter as Simon shakes him like a crook not wanting to succumb to prison. North cackling as she makes some sort of joke about not dropping any soap while he's there as they all look mortified and then break out into laughter again. 

Still cackling, North slams into his side as she sits next to him. hip to hip, shoulder pressed to shoulder and the rightness is for him to wrap his arm around her shoulder and so he does. She presses a sloppy kiss against his cheek and a laugh comes from him as he's drawn out of his thoughts. It's perfect timing to make his move, his act of dopiness being just the thing to undermine them as he rolls the dice and moves to buy the last piece of land north needed to become a capitalist pig. He braces himself as she yells dramatically and pretends to shank him, laughter spilling out of him, like he's really here.

Later as they take a break, the Monopoly board flung somewhere into the side of the room and a minefield of pieces and dollars are strung across the floor like the private room of a millionaire's strip club, they lay together on the couch. A movie reflecting soft tones of blue and green and white against North's face in a way that makes her lips shine and her features look so delicate. There is mist in her eyes from whatever soft scene has Josh sniffling and Simon smiling like a sap and he wonders if he's already painted this and that's why it doesn't inspire him. She notices him staring and gives his hand a playful squeeze and laughs away her embarrassment of being watched. Simon makes a pitiful sobbing sound in the corner that startles them all.

She will later lead him towards his room, and he as payment will turn on the small speaker _near his_ _bedside to fill the space with the soft tones of something sweet, and it decides Chet baker all on its own._ All at once he realizes that for just a moment he didn't seek out Connors smile among them. That he didn't yearn for Lieutenant Anderson to have cancelled their weekend get together, so he could be here. That for just a while, he got along without him very well. He even thinks of how he didn't think about how Connor would have squeezed his hand.. _and how his laugh would have been like, too_. He fights with her that night, he isn't sure how it starts but it ends with them in separate rooms and the speaker turned high. 

\-----------

Connor smudges his charcoal and lets out a soft swear as he rustles for a piece of paper towel to rub against the horrible, disastrous, credible artist destroyer line he just made against his paper. 

Markus's "Connor's swear tab" goes up by 1.

"Hank sure has taught you some nasty language." 

The ex-hunter- the brown haired android- the dog lover- chuckles and rolls his eyes, shaking his head in a way that leaves unstyled hair bouncing and swaying against his forehead. "The lieutenant has no impact on my verbal expressive preferences. It just so happens that he also describes emotions and situations with more colourful langua-shit." 

Connor abandons his frusterating work and moves up and over to Markus, to watch him paint. Standing next to his shoulder so when Markus side steps to stop a slowly sinking dribble of paint with too much enthusiasm he knocks against his side. it makes the darker man stumble slightly to the side, Connors hands stopping him from knocking over the giant paint can in his other hand. Markus laughs it away, and nods his thanks to the concerned looking brown eyed wonder. "I see you inherited his perfect timing too." He laughs again, as he's always laughing around Connor, and a small bubbling sound leaves him as well. They laugh for a few minutes before going back to watching paint dry.

Connor finally averts his eyes from the paint and the man, and the paint covered man. His mind already shifting to an agonizing crash course about the Lieutenant. They had talked about hanks issues before, while standing here. The Russian roulette, the hunger for alcoholic beverages, his lack of diet and how it pertained mostly to the fact that his kitchen had only been used once a week for years. When they danced, he talked about his worries and Markus would lower his voice and speak softly about how he was doing better. Giving advice on how to care for him, without smothering him. It felt nice to have advice on how to complete things again, and this new mission of his was harder than anything he'd ever done before. He lets his mind continue its adventure before it decides to wander over to the way markus's hand sways over the canvas. Soft patient strokes, that turn the liquid to texture.

Markus paints, but glances over as he watches Connor become lost within himself. Once, months earlier, he found it worrying. Watching delicacy personified internalizing his issues, and not speaking about what was bothering him. He learns later that he does it when it's quiet, and that his mind used to be a palace fit for a king. That the lion's and fancy dinners are still in there, and he needs to wear a crown once more for just a while. He does it while they dance sometimes, and he finds it a blessing. Its when it happens that Connor let's Markus lead. Let's himself trust the decision and surrenders his body over to the leader - the man who sucks at board games- the one who's heart is pounding; whom he trusts. He goes to speak again, to bring Connor back but he suddenly looks up, his eyes wide like he's had a realization. It reminds him of when he first became deviant.

"You dance like you do everything ...Markus, It's wonderful."

He has no idea what any of that means, or what he's referring to by everything, but blue still blooms across his cheeks. Instead of an answer something within him grows ungodly warm and his brain just replays the words on a loop. The paint drips. "....what..?"

Connor steps closer, the movement instinctually turning him to face the cause of his confusion. Connor is closer now, closer to his chest and lips, and he feels dizzy and anxious but his eyes just watch how Connors expression looks so full of wonder and colour. "You dance the same way you paint, or sing, or play the piano. You just feel and let it control you.." 

Connor looks like he has cracked a code, and like he has solved a problem that has plagued him for a long while. He has no idea what it is he has missed but the statement leaves him fuzzy and he nods along anyways. A shy "thank you" on his lips. He won't tell him how Connor started talking without eloquence. Like verbal cursive. Won't mention how the sparkle in his eyes are the most human thing he's ever seen. And how he feels the same way.

Later, when he isn't fighting with her they sit in his room doing different things. She's writing a report to someone and he's doodling small sumos that he knows Connor will like. He sees her watching him out of the corner of his eye and he looks up to meet them.

She smiles. "_You look like you again"_

"Huh?"

"_You have some colour back._ I told you it would get better."

she smiles again and there is a soft look on her features that's illuminated by the glow of her tablet. It makes him sick on the inside - What him did she know? What one is he back to?- He doesn't-

"Yeah .. you were right._ I feel like me again_, too"

He feels horrible.

\--------------

The end is messy. 

They stand behind the church, anger pouring out them like the seeping of their torn apart hearts. She's angry and hurt and every word from her is so truthful but painful, so he turns away. He waited to long for this, he played with her heart, withheld her freedom to find someone new as she fell deeper and he crawled out. He's sure the yells can be heard loud and clear through any wall, but to him it feels like the rest of their time together. Saving himself peacefully while everyone around them suffers for the result.

He keeps thinking this until she yells and takes a deep breath. "Fuck! I don't know Markus! I can tell by your shitty sad face that you think you've done something fucking shitty and yeah you have but ..I don't know. I get it..it became weird."

"North no- what I did was horrible.. I'm so sorry-"

She sighs again, folding her arms over herself defensively and looking at him with an almost calm expression. One that makes him even more nervous. "I know you're sorry.. im sorry too, cuz it wasn't sunshine and rainbows on either side..the entire thing was a shit show from start to finish..and I'm sorry for that...too"

He moves and brings her into a hug. A hug that feels both like a long time and not enough time at all.

As he turns to leave, wiping tears from his eyes, she laughs and yells out to him.

"You better ask him out and stop moping like a little love sick school girl or I'm going to kick your ass."

She's still wiping her eyes as she says it and a sort of sad fondness blooms in him. He still definitely gets flustered, and has an admonish on his lips- but it dies there as he chuckles. 

She laughs at him and shrugs her shoulders. "What, too soon?"

His status for north goes back to friend. -

\-------

They dance in wide circles through his studio. The furniture pushed against walls to make room for the quick pace of their steps to a 'Fox Trot' both of them are horrible at. Not that either of them are really thinking about the quality of their dance, since Markus is staring at worried eyes and continuously glances away from the overwhelming tawny depths. Androids do not need air like humans do, so Connor is not out of breath when he speaks. He's flushed, and his hair falls in whisps against his forehead, but he does not breathe the way he looks.

"Are you sure you are okay Markus? Such a thing would take an emotional toll on anyone."

Markus jumps to the side and pulls Connor with him. His feet slowing slowly to make up for the fact that Connor doesn't seem to be truly listening to what the beat of the song wishes of them. "Its been an entire week, Connor. I'm alright, it's better this way. North and I almost get along better now"

His eyebrows scrunch up and he stops dancing all together. The halt of his movements pulls Markus to a stop as they stand in front of each other, arms still held together by hands squeezing like comfort and something deeper.

"...and are you happy?"

He thinks of the way the music envelops them in a deep fold of comfort and energy. How Connor sees him as an artist and not a god. how his friends laugh as they jog down the desolate streets of a ghost city Detroit. How Hank comes to visit them with sumo and Connor's eyes go glassy every time. How Carl smiles while Markus plays the piano for him. How the sound bounces off the walls of his bedroom and drowns out the beeps of his monitor. He thinks how the fluorescent lights of the city cast almost affectionate glow across Connor's pale skin. How they are standing in the dark room, _sweet music_ curling through it like thick smoke. Faces illuminated only by little light, and the LED on Connors temple. He replays the question in his mind.

One song ends, another one starts, they still stare at each other.

He begins to mindlessly sway to the beat of this new song. His heart pounding, as he looks away from the caring and sweet man in front of him. "_......I wouldn't know where to start_"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any grammer or spelling mistakes!


	3. The Rite of Movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took like 12 revisions and it's still a bit wonky but here you are.  
This story has my attempts at doing more than one version of Connor, as he grows from afraid and calculating to super emotional. I'm not sure if I got it and the outcome made it sound a bit blocky but oh well. Have fun with this monstrosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also there is no way I'm going to italicize every single time I say movement cuz it's like a very vague word to say is all Andrew. Instead I'm going to italicize lyrical points and I'm absolutely certain you will know what I mean with the whole rite of movement idea.

Connor felt like he was drowning in the concept of life. 

Now that he held no need to run and scale Detroit like a bloodhound on the trail, the ex hunter found himself lost. Other than visiting Hank on the weekends, and helping where he could at Jericho,the rest of the time left him floating through time with no necessary purpose. Markus mentioned hobbies and aspirations, things they Connor wanted to do, but the list felt endless and empty all at once.

That was till one day in his roaming, searching for something to hunt , he walked through the desolate parks to the square. The heart of the city, usually empty now that the humans were gone, but today a small crowd of people stood In al circle. The sound of clinking, jingling, metal and their cheers echoing out towards him. And with it the grip of fear that comes from a far off, unsafe world compelling him that it was from an Android or person being cornered. Machinery and protocols that he promised to fight sprung forward and quickened him towards them, ready to intervene and deal with the aftermath once it came to it. Perhaps that's why the surprise struck him to core, and he stood still with the crowd of humans and androids. People who were on the opposite side of an impossible line, standing together to watch a girl dance in circles with her mother. The two of them spinning to the music their clothing provided, the jingling, coin dropping sound that he had blocked from his sensors before then, and mistook for the slamming of chains against pavement.

Long after the crowd parted to the opposite sides or their war, and the dancers began to pack up, Conner remained standing in the evening sun, entranced by all that it was and could be. The idea of moving one's body in a way that could show emotion was foreign to him, and he pondered the idea that it was beautiful but unattainable, like true deviancy, or an understanding of his place in this world.. Of course, that was until the curiosity crawled out from the depths of his mind, and in a quick courageous move that he could not recognize, he asked Markus for a dance while they stood in the dusty church, while androids swayed around them. He wasn't sure where it came from, program and program and coded responses and then like light shining through the foggy glass -_**want**_-.He was not human, and was not related to Markus in a way that he saw in the dance earlier that month- but Markus was close and unjudging and always speaking to him with the tone of someone who breathed understanding. Markus had even mentioned that companions and lovers danced too- and companions were what they were...yes, just companions. That was definitely the category they were in, he hoped.

And just like sailing a ship out onto the ocean, conner slowly sailed into a storm. It was gradual. The two of them were spending a lot of time together so of course Conner felt - deep companionship- (**lie**) towards Markus. it was for work purposes of course- (**lie**)(_**shut ****u****p**_). Connor had all the program needed to be a perfect negotiator and bodyguard, and Markus needed both. He assisted the deviant leader on all matters related to android rights, and worked somewhat like a more aggressive and unmoving version of the earlier RK model, when in deciding the fate of each law they struggled to put in place... And somewhere along the line that turned to.. non work related meetings.

So they would come together once a week. Connor, with all his jittery energy; A caged animal of anxiety and pure intentions wrapped up in an emotionless body would come to Markus, who by all accounts was calm and silently resilient. Who's anger and pain settled in silence and in his levels of stress. The darkness in his eyes and heaviness of his shoulders the only show for the pain he was feeling. They would dance in the leader's little alcove, a hole in a crumbling wall that had gained the label of haven and the splatter of paint. They would away themselves to the harmony of music played in synch. Sway with wind that howled through the desolate buildings, or the rainwater that reflected the flickering lights of the large commercial screens against shards of glass around them. Here they were human and Android, and hunter and leader, all wrapped into one, and none at all. It was here that Connor and Markus meant nothing other than just names to two bodies. Here, Connor practiced the act of deviancy, and well calculated half truths. Still learning how to dance with others, too calculating, and leading, and anxious of a simple misstep. Markus would practise the act of life, where he would stop working and worrying for longer than a minute. Forget the death and the pelting of rain in a mud filled mass grave. They would dance, and pretend there were no words to be said about it. To let their unassuming touches and playful banter fill any holes between the songs they catalogued when in their own bodies. 

Connor would come visit Markus while he painted. Always with a debate on his lips or a curiosity about how he didn't understand another concept of human social norms. Other times it was why animals were so precious, or why people didn't appreciate bugs. The list was endless and Markus, the only one of them who's taste of humanity was based on eccentric affection for all things, seemed willing to answer or, at least discuss them all. He felt like a burden when he did this-a dark claw from within his stomach squeezing its way into his throat when he thought of how he was bothering Markus. But the man with gemmed eyes would give him a look like honey and explain how that wasn't the case, and such words awakened a blossoming within him. A seed planted somewhere warm in him in its innocent complexity and hopeful fruitfulness. Like the tree of Eden that bore apples of wanting. 

Oddly enough, sometimes Conner would come for the silence, and watch Markus paint and listen to the slow unsteady rhythm of brushes against canvas. Sometimes when his energy levels were too high, or he felt jittery, his sound units would increase to try and find out why he felt tense- or like he was being watched. In that case, every brush stroke would calm him into the lull of the real world. It was here that he would watch Markus move like grey skies, slow and steadily rolling, his feelings dripping from his brush like rain.

\------ 

Markus found his comfort after the immediate revolution in painting. In the colours that stained his body, and in every crack or wrinkle of skin where it could touch. It breathed life into him in the shape of himself and in the old man who teetered on the edge of life down the street. It was a way to explain and express and all he wanted to see. A place he could be as alive as the rest of them without speaking a word. All while still somehow getting the point across. Markus could sit or stand for hours, unmoving and sated, as his mind danced to the strum of his thoughts. Connor could watch how his hand moved so slow and on such small details that one would assume that he was not moving at all. Or witness a sight like he was attacking the canvas, spraying colours like blood, with each sweep and slice of his brush. The collateral splattering paint from floor to ceiling and replacing the dark images of his subconscious with sights that left birds fluttering within him-birds trapped within him behind steel bars. Oh how he wished to keep them there and release them at the same time.

If he was lucky, after watching Markus become messy and wakefully sleeping, he would find a few of those specks of markus's dream on his clothes or skin hours after, like presents and reminders of what the world could be. 

It got worse with time. How he watched Markus and began to become entranced in his movements-how bright and alive he was. Connor felt like he was forever a speck of colourless canvas when Markus was away, and then the man would return from wherever he was hiding and recall something that had gone from him. And he found himself blooming in the gentle rise of it until he too bright. Like doves against the bright morning sky, burning and squinting to watch them fly. He attempted not to watch. To look away as markus moved around the new Jericho like hell was on his heels, jumping on his feet to an invisible beat with children that worshipped him like the mythical saint Nicolas. It left a bitter feeling within him, but to them he was a savior, not android, not living. It made it all seem far more intimate, to be alone with the real one. Walking with him in the park where he pranced around with sumo, twisting around each other with a slobbery tennis ball switching from hand to mouth, and back again.- Dogs mouth- he should clarify that. It was Sumo's mouth. His body moved like trees shaking in the wind. Imprecise and with no pattern but still wild and beautiful and distracting. Adding an intoxicatingly hopeful atmosphere to the abandoned warehouses they now called home. When it was markus dancing for fun there was no question of what was right or wrong. It was simply a man that was feeling freely as the people around him joined the call of movement, and it was more beautiful than whatever his programming could muster for a waltz. Here he possessed a compelling energy that left Connor chuckling and smiling at the sight before him and promptly ignoring how something non mechanical in him stuttered. 

When the five of them were pulled into the facilitated chaos of public events and galas; Where people pretended to care for the picture it painted of them, and how they would look at the two androids like they were strange and exotic, like lions in a cage, Connor would begin to overheat. Could feels himself becoming a chittering insect. Could feel the racing of his mind and body. His hands pressed against his legs so hard it wears away the skin- his fingers fiddling with a coin, and he would look here and there and at **_him_**. Markus would give him a smile so sweet and walk over to him, pull him away and leave the shadow where he left it in a chair in the corner, and walk with the man who laughed at the smallest or quips and ignored the greed in people's eyes. The feeling was still there, but to not be alone, to stand next to him in a sea of people, felt like being alone with him. It made him an all new type of nervous, and he would have to focus until he was machine again...

Markus was so large and full of life, as _bright as a bird of paradise_ and in every part of life Connor found the world moving when Markus moved. When Markus walked through Jericho, the crowd parted before he stepped. The smile he gave to all who came to him brought hope, and his words lifted the hearts and thirium pumps of all who listened. If he could change the mind of the grizzled old Lieutenant Anderson than he was a man to praise. (Sorry Hank, but it's true) 

The swaying came naturally- a song playing in Markus's head on his good days, with his body slowly swaying on the spot as he worked on something trivial or important. His eyes closing, and a secretive smile coming to his lips, as he did whatever a man with the weight of life on their shoulders did. On the good days, he'd watch the way the sunlight would brush almost reverently over honeyed skin and turn it warm gold in the light. The way the sway of the trees cast patterns across his smiling face and relaxed shoulders as they walked the park, like normality was familiar to them. it was perfectly incandescent and unnerving simultaneously. When Connor watched him something warm and unwelcomed would wrap around his thirium pump, and squeeze in an aching way that would leave him yearning, and unknowing of why he was staring. It was blissful and painful all the while and he found himself later wondering why his optical units had recorded footage of Markus "_Groovin_" as Hank called it. Taking up valuable space in eternal memory files… He would not delete them though, not all of them anyways. For purposes he still did not know. Perhaps he was just overthinking it all, and the knowing glances Simon and North gave him were just misunderstandings. That's all it was. Misunderstanding.

On the days not so well, when the world washed away the etched in plans, like waves across sand, Connor would watch how the fluorescent lights would flash across furrowed brows and dark expressions as he sat in his room. How the hands on his face cast shadows across eyes lost in darkness. The colour painting them like lights at the bottom of a pool full of water- as he spoke of the demons of his code and the supposed monstrosity of his recycled body. Running through all the ways to destroy the monstrosity who stole the parts of the dying, while Connor whispered back the closest truth he could when he said Markus was more than that, more than he thought of himself, without saying what he truly meant.

Markus was an addictive person, it was as simple as that. A man of wires and plastic, who had accomplished so much. Carrying the weight of the revolution on his back and punished for it with bullets and sleepless nights... and now, the stillness of inaction. _Like Atlas in his sleeping_. How addictive it was to watch someone _move without moving._ _Like the breeze through a willow tree_. The way his hands swayed as he spoke or picked at paint on his fingers. He watched how his shoulders tensed and relaxed without noticing, and the way his lips eloquently parted and came together as he danced through cutting conversations with important men and women of law and frustrations. Each sentence punctuated by the beautiful expressive eyes that glowed and burned with the fire of intimidating compassion. Perhaps he was staring too much? Staring was rude.

He wasn't sure where this all came from, but when it did, it grew like an ember on dried parchment into a giant dumpster fire. He felt protective and wanting to care. He started taking a step in front of him before they greet humans. Began to let his eyes sweep through the room and scan for anyone of suspicion before Markus even got to see the room. This was official business of course- As his bodyguard- he didn't get more and more wary everyday of him. Definitely not.

That addictiveness simply rubbed off on Connor. The idea or being able to stay near and use program to do the opposite of what was supposed to be made of him. He got to watch the way that Markus gave stillness a new meaning. How his presence exuded calm in the worst situations and a juvenile mischievousness in the rest. when the leader smiled he smiled. when he laughs, Connor feels a lightness bubble from somewhere empty inside him, and breathe light so far from his everyday life. The energy he exudes powers Connor to move forward. A foot in front of the other, weighed by deep snow from a blizzard far behind him. When Markus moves, Connor will follow, and move too. And when they danced on that roof, with a tarp serving as the roof that blocks out the rain- and hide away whatever stars blink through the heavy smog of Detroit, Connor feels like it's the closest he can be to him. Fighting him for who moves first, trying to guess what steps to take until Markus chuckles and says something encouraging and let's Connor ease into the lead of something he can control. So when they danced with each other , Connor ignores all the unanswered questions and let's Markus move him like molding clay to the music. Lets him be the wind to leaves and move him gently through each step of each dance. He feels himself swaying like _Like Jonah on the ocean,_ and in all the words not said to each other Connor, could never _define all that is said between them_. These are the times he appreciates walking through the blizzard, and choosing deviancy over simplicity. To dance on a shitty roof barely blocking the rain, and listening to music 20 years too late. To him, the rite of movement is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
See you next chapter!


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